"administered" poems
All strung
out
on
sadness,
empty shells
of needles
that injected
the next defense
to keep me going
splayed upon
the coldness
of metal
somewhere in a place
lower than
the floorboards
of the nether regions
of a private hell,
where no one sees
the truth behind
the doors of
beaten swords
of silken pictures
in frothy shades
of effervescent green
a smiling happy family
in which the
sounds of drowning
can only be
vaguely heard
a faded gurgle
in an ocean of sighs
Somewhere, there,
the pain in my veins
spreads like
a self-administered
drug
only it's not
my prescription, at all
just a parody
from the very
sick doctor
who shares
this house,
meant to
be a home
one who thinks
he knows it all
but knows nothing
In this dreamlike weaving
of staring blankly
into alternative spaces
when all is so heavy
that even breathing is a task
I suddenly remember
who the **** I am
and push my gaze through
the ceiling cracks
to look up at
the stars,
receiving their
shadows
of light
like a blessing
upon my
nettle-stung
tongue
and
rise
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
~~~
*write the scriptures,
the Book of Me,
with authorship
exposed on the books cover,
of every word have ever writ
flawed, ignored, rejected,
necessary to self-publish
upon the unpapered internet,
where words are ionized
I take an oath,
self-administered,
oath sworn upon mine own scripture,
testify before a jury of my peers,
me, myself and I
what you read,
is not imaginary,
I am real,
you are realizing
each of us has a truthful name,
in spite of acronymic disguises employed,
and wearing it,
here, upon this.....line dotted,
place my neck,
ready for
the executioner*
you
~~~
October 24, 2015
7:20 am
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
It is funny to see banners wishing Happiness displayed with cinematic glamour,
the pictures and hordings of Banner heroes.
The one at Tannery Road junction was peculiar to mention.
Here it was common
The captions "Happy" used to summon names of sundry festivals-Local and national, even internstional.
What's uncommon was the bold prints
of a hero's name ARUMALAI outshining
The caption and his larger than life picture establishing the photographer's digital brushing skills.
A passer by wondered who'd be this Arumalai,
Is he so great as to be advertised in polivynil?
His glorious deeds may be what they want you to heed
Still never ever seen or heard of his manners
Anywhere than in these motley banners
Just as a function
at the Tannery road junction
Each one passed by this colossal glance attracted provoking protracted ruminance what do this expensive banners really mean?
In another occasion
the glaring glorifying picture
of ARUMALAI followed the tag
Corporator,
Below the man posing a DICTATOR.
That was a period to a period of mystery!
Banners changed with seasons
with greetings on religious occasions
Festivals of importance
Birthdays of men even
with crowded profiles of hailers
Whose unrully manners
Too clogging up the banners
Like a wanted list of jailors.
One day a strange banner
hooked by the Tannery cross over
Spooked and shocked every passer-by
There the usual banner cut out
the larger than life image blings-out
Arumalai the BBMB corporator
Posing as dictator!
There was no wish of any kind.
It was a notice startling any mind
The sad demise of ARUMALAI
The BBMB corporator
Still possed as dectator
By his living promoters.
"He was sick and the local dispensary advised a minor operation.
He was administered
the necessary treatment.
Was referred to a super-speciality
centre and was declared dead.
His sad demise was advertised, he was forty.
His chummies complained of medical negligence", was the only news summary
in major news papers...
What was the reason for the minor surgery
What're the preparations
for the corporator's operation
All are mystery for a causal itinerary
passer by crossing over the Tannery Road junction, wondering at the strange envountering with banners
that come and go
Keeping no annals
Floating on the mind for a while
Stopping at the red's knell,
Moving with the green signal
The rise and fall of heroes
As binary one and zero
The banners tell a story tertiary
Of the rise and fall of a luninary
Within a plane ofmomentary
Variation of red and green
On the Tannery road's screen.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:13 AM UTC
**On 2nd Dec 1984
Occurred
World’s worst industrial disaster,
“The Bhopal gas tragedy”
Leaving thousands dead,
Children orphaned and many people with disabilities for life.
Following day,
Cries of help were heard
Amongst the dead,
Lay few children alive
Shone bright, a ray of hope,
Miraculously the deadly effects
Of the gas they could cope.
Taken under the caring wings of an NGO,
With Medical aid administered
And the vital support to grow.
Amongst the children
There was a girl named Ganga
And a boy named Ravi,
together with other such children,
they grew up,
Finding solace in each other’s
Company.
When reached teenage,
the girls had to be moved in a women’s hostel.
Distanced made them closer to each other,
And, the love grew stronger.
Ganga always dreamt of riding pillion on a bike with Ravi .
Ravi, the crazy boy,
sold his house (compensation by govt.)
And fulfilled her desire,
Often they went for long rides.
In the following years,
The love bloomed,
And
With blessings and love,
their marriage was solemnised
By the NGO.
All the women from the hostel
Joined the wedding ceremony,
Bollywood songs were played loudly,
The Haldi, Sangeet and Mehendi
ceremony made it more lively
On the wedding day,
Ganga attired in traditional weaves
And bridal make up,
A beautiful bride she looked
The hostel warden and her spouse
did her “Kanyadan”.
Fortunate was I to bear
the testimony of the union,
As I stayed in the working women’s hostel then.
Ganga moved in to her house
with Ravi to welcome a life anew.**
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 12:28 AM UTC
Painkillers intended to numb the pain
But they numb the heart from beating.
Administered to the ill and injured
Resulting in worse illness or injury.
An injury to the heart beat
To the collapsing lungs,
The vital components of life.
Without the medications,
The symptoms return
Full-fledged.
But with them, the ability
To function normally
Is absent.
The question at hand is
Whether it is better to suffer
From pain or numbness.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 10:33 AM UTC
The search within is one’s ability
But from the story will be from the greatness letters
In order to be great, one must bring in the goodness
Greatness requires responsibility
Yet, this comes being the one’s reality
Later follows excellence
But added with essence
However, greatness established assurance
Greatness in the teaching
Also nurturing in the seeking
Having the characteristics to excel
But don’t dwell in Oh Well
Once greatness is administered, you are now a success
But it is acknowledging sustaining with a confess
Then finally, the end result reaching satisfaction
But there were nine functions in greatness that required action
I had stated adding to the indication
But it was all part of persuasion
So you are looking to be great but show the greatness of you
Examine all the words I established and carefully go through
The greatness is waiting for you to open
Are you confident, feel your ability and assured?
Now it is up to you to make it happen, but following your own accord.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
cut paper, paper cut
cut file folder, file folder cut
cut tin, tin cut
red lines leak
stains.
thin pain
touches nerves,
sharp as knives,
blotting all
else out,
until you shout OUCH
pressure the wound
to stop the flow
too,
from your mouth
the words heard
a better found
on a boat full of sailors
crabbing or whalers
and as you bob
in out and get your
sea legs under you
you will remember
self-administered first aid too!
©DWE102013
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:28 AM UTC
Wrapped round in swaddling clothes,
I saw her bright beaming face.
Lying helpless, still in a trance,
I sensed her soft soothing touch.
Warm it was when huddled tight,
Glad it was to be held close,
Pleasure it was to be lifted up,
And Heaven it was to be in her lap.
She took me in her gentle hands,
She fed me with her nourishing milk,
She made me sleep with lullabies sweet,
And kept alert on day and night.
As time slowly glided past,
I grew myself into a tiny tot.
Crawled around in sweeping haste,
Reaching out to all I could touch.
It left my mother so hardly pressed.
She never had even time to sit,
Cut down she, her afternoon nap,
Cast aside she her rest and respite.
My teething time – a real hard time!
For reasons none, I grew so irritable.
Itchy – fidgety, I cried on end,
Futile it went all her tricks to tame.
This made my mother grow jittery.
Consulted she every quack and doc,
Administered she every harmless dope,
And interceded to all divine help.
It was only a passing phase,
With consistent care, I grew to a buxom babe.
My childish pranks delighted all.
Too glad grew my mother to see me fare.
Soon I learnt to steady myself up,
The Toddler placed the first faltering step.
It was always with bated breath,
My mother watched my growing up.
She ever remained a pillar of strength,
In whom I saw a never failing friend.
She led me through the devious turns of life,
Always there to lend her helping hand.
In complex issues too hard to solve
Wise it was to seek her counsel
Sane and sound, she ever remained.
To trials of life, she never surrendered.
She taught me the quintessence of life,
She showed me the route to tread,
Her zest for life, never once cease,
Her trust in God ever on the rise
Now my mother ceases to exist,
But sure she will continue to live,
In my hearts domain, she reigns supreme.
No force on Earth can cast her out.
As I look back to days of yore,
All I wish is to conjure up the past,
To be reborn a second time,
To be my mother’s darling child!
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
Cold Diet Coke
Administered intravenously
Injected into my veins
And fueling my anxiety.
First, it was only a few
Drops to keep me ready,
But now it's full gallons
And even that's not quenching.
People always ask me,
"Why push milligrams and ounces
Of cold Diet Coke?
It'll make you choke.
After time, you'll croak.
You're such a stupid bloke,
Pushing Diet Coke."
To this I have to say that you
Are quite mistaken, sir.
I only do it because I am
Addicted to the tiny bubbles
In my fizzy bloodstream.
I know it's very dangerous,
But I haven't died quite yet.
I might just try some other kind
To fix my upset stomach.
"Zero calorie soda,
Amazing as it is,
Though it tastes delicious to you,
Isn't healthy food.
It's gonna cause an issue.
You're still depressed and blue.
Your face is green in hue."
Again I must say you lie
To steal my fleeting happiness.
I need the drip, drip, dropping through
My swiftly closing arteries.
I don't have much time left,
And I'm at Death's bright doorstep.
I'm taking my final breaths,
And I'm on my deathbed.
I just want to tell you
You made me do this.
It's your fault.
You're to blame.
Yours is the shame.
You outlive yet another son.
You could've saved this one.
My chances are slim to none.
I approach the glistening sun
As the fungus and rot outrun
The weight of death o'er a ton.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 3:14 PM UTC
My great-grandmother lived in a time when if you sang too loudly in a public place
Such as on the bus
With no audible music anyone else could hear
You were thrown away
Reported by the sanest of citizens
Locked away in the mental ward of Bellevue Asylum
By your own family
She was an alcoholic
Well, she was Italian
As was that whole part of my family
And Italians like wine
And she liked her wine
Maybe a little bit too much
My grandfather said that by six o'clock
Everyone in the house was screaming
Throwing things
Alcohol-tinged, infant-like fits
The lot of them
Drunk
Every night of the year
But my great-grandmother
She was the only one who carried her drink
In a little metal flask
Tucked in her ragged coat
Took it with her on the bus
On the way to work at a hotel
Where people with enough money
To boost the world's economy
Slept, ate and yelled at her
For forgetting to put a mint on their pillow once
But she just hummed away
Took the flack with a smile
Sipped her poison
And rode the bus back to work
The next day
Drunk
Singing
La Donna e' Mobile
One day though
Her brothers caught up to her
As she was boarding that bus
She was singing again
And smiled
Asked them what they were doing there
And they looked at her
Smiled
And smacked her
They threw her in their car
And took her to Bellvue
In 1947
When the idea of mental health
Was shrouded in ignorance
And scrutiny
And the word "medicine"
Meant electric-shocks to the brain
Submerging in below freezing
Ice-tanks
And
Fiddling around
In people's brains
Through their eye-sockets
With screwdrivers
"Lobotomies"
My grandfather was born in 1945
He was only two when they took his mother away
And only three
When they told him she died
Rotting in the asylum
Experiments done to her
That my family will never know the nature of
Never know how much pain
She ****** up
Never know if the cause of death
Was actually "cirrhosis of the liver"
Or
An officially administered
Botched
Brain-fuck
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 11:27 AM UTC
Dear all of the above,
Why do you ridicule me so?
Severity, Severity, more than you’d ever know
The extent of beauty I see in the world
Perplexed by the forbiddance you administered, hurl!
Why me? Why someone who has been doing nothing
but describing beauty his whole life? Irony
Why me?
The supreme experimenter
The great accursed
Anonymous
Sad clown
Sad clown
Why me?
A Poet.
One specifically who followed in the footsteps of Poe
not through choice or influence
but because life chose a similar path for me
Dear life,
Dear nature,
Dear conscious, subconscious, unconscious,
Dear collective conscience,
Dear existence,
Dear heavens,
Dear spiritual realm,
Dear all that is and isn’t,
Dear all that can be seen, and cannot…
Dear knowledge,
Dear intellect,
Dear intuition,
Dear emotion,
Dear regret,
Dear regret,
Dear regret…
******* CIRCUMSTANCE!
CHANGE **** YOU!
For the love of everything pure.
Please
Please
Please
I’m sorry
I’m so sorry
I’m SO *******
sorry…
If I could just go back
If I could just…
Please...
It’s funny how it rhymes
Samir… Severe
Please no.
This isn't real.
Please?...
Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
Hearts break and it surely hurts when they do
Constant feelings of regret
So many unfulfilled wishes
Wishes for an immediate remedy
Even when the heart is not ready
Not ready to love again
But it hurts when the heart breaks
And the wishes are all about wishing for new love
New love to soothe the fresh wounds
New love to cover the scars
Scars from the past disappointments
But because of the newly lost love,
Missed appointments,
Rejected calls and non-replied texts.
Less hours of work and increased time of not being productive
Reduced creativity and more feeling of loneliness
All because of what you once had but can't now dare to wish for
When the heart breaks,it surely hearts
And it takes a brave one to survive
We've heard many stories of them that din't manage
Suicidal thoughts that were fulfilled
Overdoses that were self-administered
And former lovers that were sacrificed
All because of lost love
I wish to belong in a world where we would find our love once and for all
With no worries about disappointment or heartbreak
No worry of finding your only ONE with your so-called best-friend
All this because I love love and love to be loved back
But every heartbreak makes it hard to love again
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 5:01 AM UTC
Someday anarchy will ******* the nation,
breaking legs that walk in the wrong direction.
The so-called leaders will be reduced to kneeling,
like those they ignored; begging and pleading.
Empires crumble as structures fall,
an ironic symbol of what we used to call life.
From rulers unworthy, the throne is claimed;
a rebirth of a nation, a new start to the game.
The assertive cure to the poison that plagued us,
administered by those who were previously faceless.
The people as one, not one as the people
grab shovels to unearth the roots of all evil.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 1:57 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
I wonder what makes up the landlord’s heart
For it is merciless, capricious and poisonous in fibre
It manufactures terror like a Chinese toy factory
For only to be administered where none is needed,
Most selfish and mightily crafty in primal setup
It is the heart of the landlord all over world
It derives pleasure from agony of the tenants
It is maximally sadistic to no match of creation,
It derives joy from harms like rent hike
And terrible evils as lien on beggar’s property
Where misfortune of tenant brews such all
The wine of the land is the blood of the poor
Cursed be the womb which sired the landlord
And yes be it the milieu that nurtured him
For they gave the world a gnome of generations
Feeding on human sweat like vampire of vampires.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
hot water administered directly into a teabag-filled mug.
clear first - but then, morose gray!
curious, and off-putting.
·
the world outside is gray, as looks my immediate future.
I refuse to also ingest this nothingness!
I will only blend in with the depressing surroundings when I so desperately desire to be
coloured
with
inspiration!
·
- wait -
- ah -
a swift tug on the teabag produces an instant blossoming of
cranberry crimson throughout the luridness.
this is the deeply emotional colour I want to infuse myself with.
now I see the shots of brightness throughout my bruised world.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 12:13 PM UTC
*I remember the first ingredients
to our lover's brew -
desire & passion
was the basics ingredients,
He already had the spice of
"want" & a dash of "need"
copiously he trailed rainfalls of kisses
down my body.
Until he reached my valley of milk & honey,
He opened me slowly, meticulously so- placing one finger inside as his tongue danced across my ********
Causing me to reach my hands down pulling his hair, trying to pull his head closer deeper as my body melted to him.
Contumaciously
He rejected my urgency...
reaching my hands he held both with just one of his own keeping me in place as he administered his lustful assault on my person, my mind froze as my body ****** hips first before he let go my hands then wrapping both hands around my thighs.
Holding me tightly while making me cry out his name over & over...
He knew I was ready, wet & sleek.
He's hard solid & ready but I rush to taste him he only allows me to for a second then he bends me over my *** facing his **** he doesn't enter me- he once more licks & ***** my ******** then my tongues my ***
Causing a new sensations...
right before my body explodes he slams into me swiftly, my moan dies as my cries of more rant the morning air.
He's moving so vigorously- blending sensual amounts of harmonic tones of his own moans and whimpers in my ear as he ****** harder but oh so gentle like he was a drummer & his throbbing **** a solid 10" hard hitting drum is now beating in & out of me,
He was so energetic without rules or reasoning to pleasuring me so immensely he never noticed the door bell ringed..
Oh well, my legs began to shake as he holds my hips he moves in- pushing deeper,
retracting slowly then again- he slams inside of me...
from behind me he pulls my hair while his other hands is placed on the small of my back, I'm convulsing like I'm having an epileptic reaction- my ******** rapture causes me to fall in a heap upon our bed.
These are the ingredients to our
Lover's Brew!
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved ®*
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 2:25 PM UTC
concrete, metal, steel and glass
lustrous phalluses
skyscraping
lighting up the dark
no stars
visible
visual
pollution.
with an iron fist
the rulers of the world
reign the world
out of the towers of babylon 8.
who are these people?
what are they doing all day and all night long?
what are we being told?
beneath the towers: a vast red light district
populated by desperate, greedy, machiavellian creatures:
driven by addiction
drugs are sold in the street 24/7
since the councilmen of babylon 8 established a drug policy
that is called "babylon's way".
it has been administered for three decades and ensures that slingers and dealers are given a set place to do what they are used to do.
in order to calm worried citizens, the police raid a stash house every couple of weeks while dealers are waiting across the street to go on as soon as the cops will be leaving.
the rulers of the world are addicted to themselves; many are using.
the slingers are faithful to any kind of mind-altering substance; many are dying right now.
close to you and close to me
while these words are written down and by the time they will be read.
people die daily because they do drugs.
most die due to abuse
some because of regular use
and even a few
trying it the first time.
what do YOU think ––
can anybody hear the addicts' last breaths inside the towers?
how do the rulers of the world perceive the world?
what's going on in babylon 8?
besides: babylon 8 is not an imaginary city.
it's real name is
frankfurt am main
located in
germany
(a.k.a. "bankfurt" a.k.a. "krankfurt")
globally known for
its fair
its stock exchange ––
and a skyline
of bank towers
Dec 31, 2019
Dec 31, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
*for my friend, Betterdays, who has never written
a poem that did not seek, reach, or teach, even
when she thinks she knows not, the lesson plan below*
wisdom arrives daily,
Even after you need all ten
fingers to count your
decades and generations
was it but last year
that a single gull cawing,
a solitary iris saluting the sundial,
a moment of watching her,
arms flung hither, encased in drowsy drops,
a mother and her child strolling,
she patrolling, and they, child world exploring,
only continents discovering,
a grandchild's freely given first kiss
would prompt a write as if a shotgun shell
had arrived not overnight, but instant implosion,
in a chest that could not contain emotion,
only seep, none to keep, skin to shed,
and of course,
tears of, what should I call them,
tears of more than life, tears of essence,
real tears come from invisibly indivisibly real places,
wiping me clean
and so I oathed, I swore,
the Supreme Court and the Village Clerk
jointly administered this vow,
my hand upon my heart,
where the words come from,
*what ere you pro-prose,
what ere delights,
or havocs thy temperaments,
if to be,
duly noted, dispatched and possibly
shared,
let it be only thine best,
to the higher standard,
hold thyself close and closer still,
be happy to admit failure,
for that is excellence attained,
and when you are satisfied,
then we will be
but not mere satisfied too,
enthralled to you
for in they words,
you raise the sea level of this world's humanity,
higher and higher*
so, thank you
and thank yourself
this line drawn,
only at or above it,
the goods ones breathe...
the oxygen of poetry
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
Our prez is now Donald J Trump
Who has promised to clean out the sump
Well he's certainly no wussy
When groping a *****
What more to expect from a gump?
In charge of the Vice, Michael Pence
Said some things that embrace little sense,
"Global warming's a myth"
But's now taking the fifth
In attempting to straddle the fence
We all recall general Flynn
Put in charge of security spin
A trained atomiser
No more Trump's advisor -
His deal with the devil's his sin
The billionaire Betsy Devos
Making plans for a school albatross
Hating free education
Backs private castration
And kids will be bearing her Cross.
The Congress approved Jeff B. Sessions
Ignoring his racist obsessions
He seemingly cares
More for foreign affairs
While forgiving Klan's toxic transgressions.
Chief strategist Stephen K. Bannon
Develops the Great Again Canon:
The Goldman Sachs Bankster
Turned yellow rag gangster
Flings crap from the New Order cannon
Says EPA ruler Scott Pruitt
"Instead of dry facts, we intuit..."
(His work as denier
Keeps profits much higher)
"... If everything dies, well, just ***** it"
The war whoops of Mad Doggy Mattis
Awaken the death apparatus
With boundless expense
For a doomsday defence -
Armageddon administered gratis
The magnates no longer need lobby
Or fight regulations thought snobby -
Now set in the saddle
They're herding the cattle
And pulling the strings as a hobby
Now the Don can start wielding the axes
Truncating the tariffs and taxes
The Mafia boss
Is dismissing the dross
And poverty's pain as it waxes
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
Affection was her invisible hand gliding
down your back to map the gradient
of your spine. Love was letting
that unseen force replace intimacy.
She loved precisely
where demand met supply.
Razor-thin efficiency.
She reciprocated coffee for coffee,
love for love. No shortage
but no extra either.
She gave unconditionally
but only when all else had remained constant.
(We built everything on assumptions.)
But what was constant was never enough and
She'd explain it
away with your infinite wants and her finite self.
She made all the choices,
administered love like an economist
and made you her next best opportunity
Forgone.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
an inquiry has been called
into the Mungindi Cup
the horse that won it
had his galloping speed hurried up
evidently the horse had been administered
some sort of enhancement
which assured that he ran
with better advancement
the stewards of the racing club
were rather suspicious
as the horse's racing ability
was far too auspicious
the police are looking into
this strange state of affairs
it wasn't possible for the old nag
to run with such dashing flair
in our region horse racing
has been dealt a shocking blow
and it's fine reputation
has sunken very low
once the inquiries findings
are published in the newspapers
we'll all be informed
of the race horse owner's capers
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 4:51 AM UTC
Clear and crystal
So anciently old,
So brilliantly fluid
And tastelessly cold.
To coalesce in vapour
Of limitless cloud,
To fall in fat globules
Of rainfall in shroud.
To cascade through air
As a mist in the fall
Or plummet as downpour
Through Calcutta’s pall.
Gathered in puddles
To flow down a drain,
Amass as a flood
To pour across plain.
To playfully tumble
From mountains of shard,
To flow to the sea
Where the surf crashes hard.
A field of marigolds
Bobbing in sun,
Nurtured by moisture’s
Life giving fun.
Green grasses grow
With barley and wheat,
Through the magic administered
By wetness’s feat.
Imagine disaster’s
Protracted drought
Where dryness obliterates
Green life throughout.
Sparkling clear waterfalls,
Hard pounding surf,
Trickles of crystalline
Cascades of mirth.
Rock pools so clear
That trout can be seen
And the bone china cup of tea
Served to the Queen.
Standing in rain
As it pours from the sky
With a grin on my face
Smearing mud from my eye
With arms outstretched
And a song in my heart
For the great joy of living
This water imparts....
Water my Angel,
My priceless gem.
A waterless world
Would bring death and mayhem.
An oceanless planet
As seen from the moon,
Would lack life giving blueness
And be hued in gloom.
Sweet water is life
In a miraculous way,
Thus we hail the Gods
Each rain swept day.
Marshalg
Sitting by the beautiful Manukau Harbour
11 March 2011
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 1:54 PM UTC
The Witch Finder general hides between the pavement cracks. His breath smells of something something sinister.
He lives in an old peoples home and he smells of **** sedated by beautiful nurses in stockings.
In flickering moments of lucidity he wonders how he has come to be in this place, this pitiful existence. His mind feels strong during vague vignettes but he is imprisoned by his failing and aged body.
More drugs administered by the ***** nurse soon weaken him again, his awareness washes away
his mind slowly slides down
warm
nylon thighs.
On his knees,
hangnails scratch against stockings, ladders and runs.
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
Rights are inconvenient things,
I’m sure you must agree.
Why guns remain in private hands
is quite the mystery.
Felons will turn in their guns
I’m sure, without a peep.
(Tyrants always take the guns
Before they slaughter sheep)
Once you cannot defend your rights
Who cares what you think or say?
Harry Bellefonte thinks
You should be locked away.
Wouldn’t trials be quicker,
Would not be justice served,
If truth serum was administered
Instead of oaths with words?
Your guns and your religion
are quaint relics of the past.
Sharia law is coming,
Beheadings ought to be a blast.
You clamor to give up your rights.
The leftists are amused.
The ****** of the innocents
For their purpose will be used.
Quite soon you will be powerless
before the Almighty State.
When you fall ill some bureaucrat
will sign off on your fate.
A land without the Bill of Rights-
It ought to give you chills!
Your birthright gone, your children slaves
of the Marxists on the Hill.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC